


The Summer of 1984

by NEPTUNiCM



Series: atonal oeuvres [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: 80s, Bittersweet Ending, Choi San is Whipped, Crushes, Fluff and Angst, Hongjoong is punk, Hongjoong loves sex pistols, How Do I Tag, Implied Sexual Content, Kinda sad but still cute, Kissing, M/M, Mild Drug Usage, Mingi is only mentioned, Questionable Fashion Choices, San hates sex pistols, Short & Sweet, Strangers to Lovers, Summer Love, Summer Romance, no beta we die like men, san is an idiot, sort of poetic but idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NEPTUNiCM/pseuds/NEPTUNiCM
Summary: The summer of 1984 was filled with cicada lovesongs and catching fireflies in the dusk. It was endless hours of messy kisses and handholding combined with ice-cream dates and carving your name on tree trunks. It was writing shitty poetry while sharing vanilla milkshakes after screaming the lyrics to Blitzkrieg Bop in your lover's bedroom. It was sweet, it was short, and it ended way too early. But damn, it was one hell of a summer.
Relationships: Choi San/Kim Hongjoong
Series: atonal oeuvres [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955683
Comments: 23
Kudos: 41





	The Summer of 1984

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know anything about the eighties but my parents talk about it like it was the peak of human existence.

_(Oh yeah, I'll tell you something_

_I think you'll understand_

_When I'll say that something_

_I wanna hold your hand)_

**The summer of 1984.**

**Where to begin?**

It is the hottest summer in ten years, or so they say on the radio. It's _suffocating_ , draining every bit of moisture from your body, making sweat run down your back, creating an oddly chilling sensation. Mirages dance over the asphalt, so hot you can't walk around barefoot.

The world is bright, lit up by a kaleidoscope of colors reflected in the water and on the air. The leaves are dark green and full, opened towards the sky.

The flowers are blooming, stretching towards the sunlight, basking in its warmth. They create new masterpieces every day, everchanging and yet never losing its wonder.

It smells _good_ . It smells like _summer_.

Even so, San decides to stay in the shade, never liking the sun's brutal glares. He hates wearing sunscreen too. Besides, it usually gives him sunburns that hurts like hell.

San sits on the porch, socks in his woven huarache sandals with a cool glass of orange juice in hand, staring at the ants making their way up his driveway from behind his wayfarer sunglasses.

The sunrays have started creeping up his legs, and San knows he should move further away, but is distracted, as usual.

A grey DeLorean pulls up in the driveway across the street. (He might have commented on the obvious Back to the Future reference, but seeing as it wouldn't be released until the following year, he doesn't.)

San watches from the porch, taking another sip of his orange juice as a boy steps out of from the passenger side.

San wonders if he has smoked one too many blunts because how can that boy be real. Even from far away, San can see he's good-looking. Pretty, but not dainty. Delicate, but not breakable. 

Neither celestial nor heavenly, he doesn't look like an angel, he looks like something straight out of Lord of The Rings. Like an elf or a spirit, minus the wings, but with hair so red it glimmers neon in the sunlight.

San has never seen anyone quite like it and must admit that he finds himself rather bewitched.

He leaves his orange juice on the steps, careful not to step on the ants as he walks across the street, feet seemingly moving on their own. San isn't thinking straight, clearly, but when does he ever.

San is like the ocean, all push and pull, never fully committing to anything but the next minute of his existence. Maybe that's why he has the courage, or maybe he's just incredibly reckless.

"Haven't seen you here before," San says casually, hands comfortably stuck in the back pockets of his shorts.

"Haven't been here before," The boy answers casually. He looks even prettier up close and San wants to _die_.

He's is dressed like what his mother would call a troublemaker; Loose fit jeans with flannel down the back instead of denim, pink tie-dye shirt which is by the looks of it homemade, and a well-worn black leather jacket decorated with buttons and silver chains.

In short, really fucking hot.

"Choi San," San greets.

"Kim Hongjoong."

A comfortable silence stretches out between them as San studies Hongjoong, raking his eyes over his body.

He watches the curve of his lips, the curl of his cupids bow, and the slope of his nose. He stares at how his skin glitters prettily in the evening light and the way his eyes crinkle in an attempt to shield the blazing sun.

Hongjoong has a wicked glint in his eyes that sends exhilarating chills through San's body, despite the heat outside.

San wants to reach out and poke the mole by the side of his nose.

He's a mess of gorgeous chaos, and you can see it in everything he does. Hongjoong looks too good to be true, and yet, here he is.

"I like you," San decides. The words roll off his tongue naturally, his mind not thinking them over before they're pushed out. And when they are, it feels right to say them, even as he blushes furiously afterward.

"I— What?" Hongjoong fumbles, clearly not expecting San to be so forward. His confused expression quickly contorts into an easy smirk, capitalizing on San's outburst by looking even _more_ attractive.

"I like you," San repeats, sounding more certain. The second time only strengthens his resolve, and he utters the words with new-found confidence.

Hongjoong only shakes his head and grins even wider. "You really are something, Choi San."

San grins back, dimples decorating his cheeks.

"How long are you staying?" He asks without missing a beat but failing to hide the slight desperation in his voice.

"Just for the summer. Show me around for a bit?" Hongjoong arches a pierced eyebrow and San melts.

"Of course!" It's almost a shout, but Hongjoong doesn't seem to care. He smiles some more, and San's heart does a flip.

*******

A fickle thing, _crushes_. They're hard to pin down and impossible to understand. They sneak up on you like shadows, stalking you like prey before trapping you in their claws and striking you unable to fight back.

It's sort of terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Terribly exciting and thrilling, like skydiving or being on the top of a rollercoaster. It aches, and San can't decide if it's a good or a bad ache.

The night after showing San around the neighborhood, walking shoulder to shoulder like they'd known each other for years, San makes a frantic call to Mingi, his best friend of four years.

_"I'm telling you, man, I think he's the one, you know?"_

_"You met him today, you fool."_

_"I know true love when I see it, Mingi."_

_"You wouldn't know true love even if it was staring you in the face."_

(San doesn't take it to heart, Mingi is just a big loser who can't appreciate feelings. And besides, he's been dating a girl named Heejin for years, spending more time with her than with him, so he should've understood.)

No amount of love-songs can ever truly describe the way San loses himself in Hongjoong's eyes. San doesn't think any love-song could be written about it even if they tried.

Hongjoong's eyes are like dark pools filled with moonlight and stardust, too deep for San to dare dive in.

Spending time with him is disorienting and conflicting, yet it also feels like coming home.

"I like your laugh," Hongjoong confesses as they sit on a swing-set in the park one day. "You should laugh more."

"You think so?"

"Yes. It sounds like a bubbly stream."

***

Asking someone how long it takes to fall in love is like asking someone how long it takes for them to fall asleep. For some it happens in an instant, the second their head hits the pillow, and for others it takes hours.

Perhaps San fell for Hongjoong over the course of summer, perhaps it happened the second Hongjoong stepped out of the car. All San knows is that he's in it too deep for it to end without heartache.

Hongjoong places his left hand on San's lap, sliding it up towards his pocket. He sneaks a few fingers into his pocket, and simply keeps them there, holding on.

They're sitting by a deserted bus stop away from town. San is pretty sure it hasn't been in use since the sixties. Yet here they sit, waiting for a bus that will never arrive.

San has a blue popsicle and Hongjoong has a red.

"Wanna make purple?" Hongjoong asks, mouth making a loud pop as he withdraws the popsicle.

It's sudden, but not completely unexpected. San nods dumbly, glossed lips slightly parted, covered in blue popsicle juice.

"Yeah..."

Hongjoong scoots closer until their thighs are touching before angling his body towards San, who is still frozen with a doltish expression. He places a hand on San's neck, leaning in with a smirk.

Their breaths mingle and San feels something explode in his chest. Hongjoong is so close that San can count the freckles on his chin.

He presses his cherry red lips against San's, feathery light and only for a second before pulling away. Not to be dramatic, but San is pretty sure he just saw stars.

San chases Hongjoong's lips, grabbing at his shirt, holding on like a lifeline. 

Hongjoong complies and leans in for a second time. Soft lips meet chapped ones, and the sensation crashes over San like a wave. Their mouths don't fit like puzzle pieces, their bodies don't melt together and it isn't perfect.

It is awkward and inexperienced. But it's real. It's raw— straight from the heart.

Hongjoong is demanding and controlling. San lets himself be pulled along for the ride, following his movements, still clinging to his shirt.

Their popsicles lie forgotten on the pavement, slowly melting, red and blue turning into a purple puddle.

"You look like a blushing maid," Hongjoong teases after pulling away.

San's face flushes deeper, almost as red as Hongjoong's hair.

"It's hot outside," San mumbles, looking away, clearly flustered.

Hongjoong laughs, head tossed back with stars in his hair, before climbing into San's lap. He squishes San's cheeks between his hands, San's mouth setting into a pout.

"You're pretty, you know that?" Hongjoong says.

"You're beautiful," San says.

Hongjoong giggles and kisses him again, hot and wet and everything San ever dreamed of.

It's a summer fling that will end when summer does. It'll fade away like the color on the leaves and wither like the flowers in the cold. And yet, San finds himself without a care in the world, his mind focusing on the now instead of the then.

"I wish this summer would last forever," San says.

"Me too." Hongjoong's voice is sad. He slides of San's lap, squeezing his hand before lacing their fingers together.

"When are you leaving?"

"Two weeks."

San sighs. Two weeks is not a lot of time.

"Maybe in a different universe, there is a San and Hongjoong sitting right here, too, holding hands. Only that Hongjoong won't have to leave."

San places his head on Hongjoong's lap, and he cards his hands through San's hair, almost lulling him to sleep.

"I hope so."

Hongjoong wore a baby blue fleece that day that he offered to San when the evening air turned chilly, not unlike what San has done to countless girls and boys before. No one has ever done it for him though, and it makes him feel skittish inside, like a giddy schoolgirl.

San wears his heart on his sleeve, and he hopes Hongjoong sees it.

_(And please, say to me_

_You'll let me hold your hand_

_I'll let me hold your hand_

_I wanna hold your hand)_

**The summer of 1984.**

**Where to end?**

"Ramones, The Clash, David Bowie, The Buzzcocks, U2— Sex Pistols!" Hongjoong looks enthralled, utterly fascinated, and spellbound as he sifts through San's vinyl collection.

"Sex Pistols was an art project, a glorified boyband of wannabes— the design product of Malcolm McLaren," San says, leaning back on his right elbow, scratching under his chin. 

"Oh, shut it you killjoy, God Save The Queen saved me from myself. My mom hated it and won't let me play it when she's home. But then again, she rarely is, so it doesn't make much of a difference."

San doesn't answer, taken aback from Hongjoong's sudden confession. He wonders if he should say something, but Hongjoong beats him to it.

"Anyway, my dad bought me Purple Rain on vinyl. He always buys me things whenever I visit. I think he feels guilty for not being around much."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, divorced parents aren't all that bad."

San wants to ask about it more, but Hongjoong flashes him a wild grin as he walks over two the record player, and the familiar voice of Johnny Rotten fills the room.

Hongjoong turns to him with yet another smile that makes San weak to the knees. Hongjoong mouths every word and dances around like no one's watching.

But San is, and he watches in _amazement_.

San laughs at him, and Hongjoong laughs too. Nothing matters outside the bedroom they're in, and San wishes once again that Hongjoong wouldn't have to leave.

"I can't believe you listen to this crap," San groans.

"But you still own their whole discography," Hongjoong points out.

"It's my brother's!" San protests. "He gave them to me when he left for college."

"I'll have you know I used to have a mullet, and I would gel it into spikes. You should've seen it."

San snorts. "No way."

"Oh, yeah, mom was furious— grounded me for a week, too."

"But you don't look punk."

"I don't look punk?" Hongjoong repeats, faking offense by clutching his chest and raising his eyebrows in mock outrage.

"No," San smirks, enjoying Hongjoong's scandalized reaction, even if it was fake.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes before tackling him to the ground, pinning him to the carpet. Hovering over him, Hongjoong has a visible blush on his cheeks from laughing and dancing. Red locks are dipping into San's face, tickling his cheeks.

Hongjoong looks like a flower in bloom, but his beauty is more than skin deep.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, San hasn't believed it until now. Because when he looks at Hongjoong, it's like he's watching his soul through the fire burning in his eyes.

It feels like he can't breathe.

San looks at Hongjoong like he hung the moon, and he might as well have, with the amount of power he's gained over San in the short weeks they've known each other.

"You see, dear San," Hongjoong settles on the carpet next to him, patting his cheek before cradling his jaw, "punk isn't about appearance, it's about being free. It's an attitude, about belonging and being spontaneous, about sex and lust, and about being young and inexperienced— It's a _rebellion_."

"It really turns me on when you talk like that," San confesses breathily, reaching over and resting his hand on Hongjoong's hip.

Hongjoong throws his head back and laughs, light and airy, like a warm summer breeze. He rolls over and hooks one leg over San's waist, hoisting himself up to straddle him.

San lets him, limbs turning to jelly under Hongjoong's touch.

"You really are something, Choi San," Hongjoong says, a playful glint in his eyes when he pushes San down on his back.

Hongjoong then leans down himself, plants his hands on either side of San's head, and kisses him. It's messy and uncoordinated, just as great as the evening by the bus stop, if not better.

Hongjoong quickly dominates the kiss, biting at San's lower lip, making him pliant in Hongjoong's grip. It gets an encouraging groan out of Hongjoong, who grinds down on him.

Hongjoong starts unbuttoning San's shirt, kissing down his neck and stomach, alternating between butterfly kisses and small kitten licks.

The world around them melts away, the only thing on his mind is Hongjoong.

His heart is hammering in his chest, and though he knows Hongjoong can't hear it, it does feel like it.

They don't break eye contact as Hongjoong's grip tightens around him, rough and needy. San grabs hold of his waist and tugs him closer, creating delicious friction between them.

San isn't a virgin, and he would bet money that Hongjoong isn't either. But when Hongjoong slides a hand into his pants, palming over his member, San sure feels like one.

Hongjoong unbuckles San's belt and slides of his shorts and underwear. He places kisses around San's hips, creating small lovebites. He kneads San's inner thighs before wrapping his hands around his member.

Hongjoong digs his tongue into the slit of the head of his dick, and San lets out a strangled moan. It sets every nerve in his body ablaze, electrified in the anticipation of what is to come.

"I'm going to take _so_ good care of you," Hongjoong says, eyes glinting dangerously with a wide grin set on his face.

If heaven is real, San is pretty sure it feels like this.

*******

Hongjoong looks ethereal in the afterglow.

The evening sunlight is kissing his skin, giving it a golden hue. San feels a rush of happiness whenever their eyes meet. He feels like a kite in the sky, boneless, and high out of his mind.

Hongjoong came into his life and turned everything San thought he knew upside down. He broke down his walls, emptied his brain, and filled it with only him. Only Hongjoong.

Hongjoong.

Hongjoong.

Hongjoong.

_Hongjoong._

When Hongjoong touches him it feels like stars are dancing across his skin, like there are galaxies flickering in front of his eyes. Or maybe that's the edibles they'd taken an hour ago. Maybe both.

"If you think about it, tomatoes are, like, _raw_ ketchup."

"Are tomatoes a fruit or a vegetable?" San asks, fingering the carpet and wondering if it has always been this soft.

"Fruit, I think."

"Does that mean that ketchup is a jelly?" Hongjoong asks. He furrows his brows, making him look even more endearing if that is even possible.

"I'm confused."

They laugh like lunatics, and San can feel himself falling deeper into him for every second that passes. It's dazzling and dizzying at the same time. But then again, that might be the high talking. 

San is a fool in love, like so many others, and it feels fucking great.

It's silent for a while, an hour, maybe longer. San doesn't need anything else but Hongjoong's body pressed against his, soft touches and soft words. He doesn't want to let go.

"My plane leaves in three days."

"Stay here with me instead."

"Bitten by the love bug?"

Hongjoong is teasing, and San knows it. But he isn't very amused, and only lets out a bitter laugh before answering truthfully.

"I think I am."

He gulps, Adam's apple wobbling in his throat, strangely serious for someone who tried to eat Hongjoong's hair mere hours ago, claiming it looked like candy floss.

Hongjoong fiddles with San's fingers without answering.

"I like you," Hongjoong says, San's words ghosting over his lips, a memory of their first meeting that he's is surprised Hongjoong still remembers.

"I think I even love you— in a _summer love_ type of way."

"I think I love you, too," San says.

Hongjoong presses a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder, making him blush. San relaxes into his embrace, feeling warm and content.

*******

San wakes to creaking floorboards and strained breathing, soon followed by a string of filthy curse words and a loud thud.

He leans over to his bedside table and flicks on the light, coming face to face with Hongjoong in his pajamas. His hair is mussed up and tangled, probably from restlessly tossing and turning, with only one slipper on.

"Hi," Hongjoong says awkwardly from where he sits on the carpet by the window.

"You woke me up," San growls in a sleepy voice, slurring the words a bit because of his tiredness. He's too fatigued to focus and keeps his eyes semi-closed while giving Hongjoong a scowl.

"Sorry about that. Tried to be quiet, but your window was closed," Hongjoong says almost sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head before getting to his feet. His form is bathed in moonlight, giving him a deathly pale halo that makes his skin shine.

"What are you doing here?"

"Can't sleep," Hongjoong admits. His voice is mellow, and he doesn't seem to want to meet San's eyes.

San doesn't think Hongjoong is capable of being shy, but if he were, it would probably look and sound a little bit like this.

"So you decided to break into my room?"

"I wouldn't have had to if you'd kept your window open."

_Touché._

San sighs, feeling a cool breeze flit through his open window and making Hongjoong's clothes billow around him. Combined with the moonlight streaming in behind, he looks like a spirit of the night, eerily astounding and magical.

It's daunting, but when Hongjoong gives him a good-hearted smile, the kind that warms him to the bone, San can't find it in himself to be afraid or angry.

San makes his decision, if there even was one, to begin with. 

He gently pats the bed beside him, gesturing for Hongjoong to sit down, which he happily does.

San wraps his tired arms around Hongjoong and drags him onto the bed with him, barely conscious. He can hear Hongjoong laugh lowly, sending vibrations through San's chest.

It feels comforting, having another body next to his, especially so because it's Hongjoong.

Maneuvering them so that San has his arms locked around Hongjoong's midsection, he entangles their legs and presses a kiss to Hongjoong's back.

San nuzzles his face against the side of Hongjoong's neck, tucking it safely between his jaw and shoulder.

"You smell good," San says. Hongjoong smells like nutmeg and pine. He smells like Christmas, a pleasant, and odd, a contrast to the summer air around them. 

"You feel warm," he hears Hongjoong murmur back.

The cicadas sing outside, songs too intimate to describe out loud, and the fireflies shimmer weakly in the darkness.

They don't mention the impending doom hanging over their heads in the form of tomorrow. They focus on today, on tonight, and nothing else matters but the two of them.

"Good night, Sani."

San doesn't answer, already snoring softly into Hongjoong's ear.

He thinks he feels Hongjoong's soft lips press against his knuckles before succumbing to sleep, but it might have been his imagination.

Hongjoong is long gone when San wakes again, and he wonders if he dreamt the whole thing. But Hongjoong's scent still lingers on the bedsheets and his window is wide open, a small hint that it was.

*******

"I'll miss you," San says. His knuckles are white from his tight grip around the phone, and he twists the cord painfully around his fingers.

_"Me too."_

"Thank you for letting me love you, if only for a little while," San whispers.

_"Please don't forget me, or all the things we did."_

"Never."

Hongjoong came into San's life as a breath of fresh air that filled his lungs with happiness and laughter. He needed that more than he knew, and misses it more than he thought he would.

Now, as the leaves are turning brown and the warmth of summer is fading like his memories with Hongjoong, San sits on the same porch, drinking orange juice by himself, hoping a grey DeLorean will pull up in the driveway across the road.

The day he left, Hongjoong wiped his tears and held his hand. He gave San a firm kiss, resembling a promise, that lingered on his lips for days.

San wrote his house phone number on Hongjoong's wrist and Hongjoong did the same on his.

But neither ever called.

Hongjoong didn't return the next summer, and San feels oddly okay with it. He didn't expect him to either, but he can't ignore the tiny hope flickering in his chest still, even months after Hongjoong left.

Wounds heal over time, but the pain lingers, and it probably always will.

The heartache fades over time, and it no longer feels like someone punched a hole in his chest.

Memories fade too, and San's memory of Hongjoong becomes a distant dream, a remembrance he keeps locked in a box in his heart, but something he will never forget.

It was special, something San will treasure forever.

If he closes his eyes, he sometimes still sees Hongjoong splayed out on his bed, blissed out and giggling.

Some people are destined to meet and to fall in love, but not meant to be. Love is love, regardless of how long it lasts, be it for a moment or a lifetime.

San and Hongjoong's story has a bittersweet ending. But don't most love stories end that way?

If you look in San's garden, behind the rose bushes and lilies, you'll see the initials,

_H + S_

carved on a tree trunk, a reminder of the summer of 1984, and the two boys who fell in love.

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me while listening to The Beatles while drinking champagne and dancing in my bedroom. I was in the mood for love. Originally posted on Wattpad under the same username!


End file.
